


Chicken

by amaradangeli



Series: We Made It [7]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Cooking, Episode: s04e03 Upgrades, Episode: s04e05 Divide and Conquer, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 09:58:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4133277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaradangeli/pseuds/amaradangeli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Could they really keep it in the room?<br/><img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicken

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork by Samantha-Carter-is-my-muse

He knew she was coming. After the way they stood on either side of the force shield and looked at each other, it was inevitable. The thing was, he didn't think he was dealing with  _emotions,_ but it turned out there were a whole bunch of emotions involved that he wasn't sure how to deal with.

When she did arrive, it was with a bottle and nothing else.

"If that's supposed to be dinner," he said, "we're in trouble."

She looked down at the bottle in her hand. "It's good Scotch. We're not in that much trouble."

Against his better judgment he let her in. "I meant I'm not sure we should be drinking that tonight."

She took her coat off. "I know that's what you meant."

He led her into the kitchen anyway. Ever since their  _whatever_ had started, he'd been prepared. He pulled some chicken thighs out of the freezer and handed them to her. "Six minutes on defrost."

It might have been fine if it hadn't been for those damn zay-whatever detector tests. Leave it in the room. Sure. Piece of cake. "Why don't you open that bottle?"

She cleared her throat and wiped her palms on her thighs. "Okay."

He grabbed two tumblers and a little ice.

While she poured he watched her. He wasn't supposed to love another woman again and he definitely wasn't supposed to love this woman, but if he was honest with himself, he  _was_ loving her. It was so easy at first when he'd just wanted her. Want was easy to push down and he was a strong man. But love? The last time he loved it didn't go so well. He'd been in love with his wife before he married her, while he was married, and, if he's honest, for quite a while after. He never made the decision to love easily which was why it was so shocking that it happened without his conscious decision.

There was just something about her. She was impossible not to love. She had to be because he hadn't meant for this to happen, but it did.

The microwave dinged. He set her to work with a knife, an onion and some mushrooms. He sliced the chicken thighs into even strips, thankful he sprang for boneless since he wasn't sure he could trust his hands to do that kind of precision work at the moment.

There were so many things he needed to say to her.  _Are you sure about leaving it in the room? Is that going to be enough? Are you sure how you feel about me? I'm not sure I can be trusted. In any way. Why me? You know I'll love you right, don't you?_ "Pasta or rice?"

She seemed to think about it with more gravity than the question deserved. "Pasta. It's quicker."

"You in a hurry, Carter?"

"The Scotch is already going to my head."

Oh. Great. Tipsy Carter in his kitchen on a Friday night after... after... she lost Martouf. She looked pretty upset about that considering what they'd just gone through. Was she sure how she felt? At the end of the day all he'd admitted to was caring about her more than he was supposed to. Even the fancy detector couldn't tell that there was more to his feelings than that. How good could it be?

"Pasta it is." He put some egg noodles on to boil. "You okay?"

"With what?" she asked like she knew it was a multi-part question.

"Pick something," he chickened out.

She sighed. "I'm not okay with Martouf dying. I'm not okay with the idea that any of our personnel could be compromised at any time and so easily. I'm... okay with us."

Well. And well again. "Okay with, what, exactly?"

"Leaving it in the room," she said. But she didn't sound so sure.

"You sure about that?"

"What other choice do we have?" she said with exasperation.

"I don't know!" he answered with just as much fire. "I just know this isn't supposed to be happening."

"None of it was supposed to be happening," she said softly, "but it was."

"Yeah." She was right. He should have nipped the whole thing in the bud, but it felt so good to get wound up around her.

"Just because it felt good doesn't make it right," she said as if she could read his mind.

He threw the onions and mushrooms into a saute pan with a little olive oil since he didn't know what to say.

"We should stop this." It killed him a little to say it.

"But we're not going to, are we?"

He loved her just a little more for accepting that what was happening wasn't something that just got set aside.

"I thought we were leaving it in the room."

"We can leave it in the room and still eat dinner, can't we?"

"Maybe. But we can't leave it in the room and have more nights like that one on the deck." He flashed back to her, pressed up against him, his mouth on her skin, his thigh between her legs, the sweet, guttural sound she made in his arms.

"No," she conceded. "You're probably right about that." Still, her eyes flickered down to the fly of his pants.

Jesus Christ but she made things hard. Difficult. She made them difficult. He turned back to his pan and stirred the vegetables. She didn't say anything else, but he could feel her watching him. He'd forgotten how nice it felt to just be in a room with someone and have their eyes on you. No need to say anything - though they had no shortage of things that needed to be said - but just to know you were with a person who didn't need to fill space, it was a good feeling.

"I haven't been on a date in a long time," she said after a long few minutes.

"Okay," he said for lack of something better even though inside he was doing backflips.

"You're not going to tell me how you feel about that?"

"Nope."

"Jesus," she breathed then he heard the ice in her glass clink. A few beats later, "I have no intention of going on any dates."

"Okay," he said again and resisted the urge to turn around.

"Still nothing?"

"Nope." And he pushed the chicken off the cutting board into the pan.

"Right. Look, I can play this as cool as you can. And we can just...do that."

"I'm not going to tell you what to do with your life, Carter."

"Jack, I just-"

"This can't happen."

"I thought you said it was up to me."

"And you said you wanted to leave it in the room!"

"Well, you did, too!"

"I know!"

"It was easier for you when it was just me having feelings for you, wasn't it?" she asked him sounding a little hurt.

He wasn't going to lie to her. "Yeah, it was."

"And now that you know you-"

"I never meant to make this difficult for you."

"I know that."

He finished the chicken and made a little sauce. He drained the noodles and she poured them more Scotch. He fixed the plates and put them on the table, she sat in his spot, the same way she usually did. They both picked at their food and made healthy inroads on the Scotch.

"Why don't we just... not do anything," she offered.

"What do you mean?"

"We'll just... we'll leave it in the room like we said, as much as we can. And we'll do...  _this_... whenever we have to and we'll just... not make any waves."

"Is that okay with you?"

"Well, it's better than nothing."

He wasn't sure that was entirely true, but it was better than pretending like he didn't love her and it was better than watching her pretend like she didn't love him. Besides, they were usually really good outside the confines of his house. And he really liked the way she looked at him sometimes and he didn't want to take that look out of her eyes.

It was just... he was chicken. It would be too easy to screw the whole thing up.

So they ate their dinner in relative silence and when it was time for her to go, he helped her on with her coat. She pulled her hair out of her collar and he watched the way her fingers lifted the strands and wished it was  _before_  like it was when she'd been pressed up against him on the deck. That night he'd have helped her move her hair.

When she was ready to walk out the door he said, "Sam? I have no intention of going on any dates, either."

She gave him an unsure half smile and left. And he knew she'd be back.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the fantastic fems, with all my thanks.


End file.
